


when the moon hits your eye

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bakery, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Happy Ending, Infidelity, Moonstruck AU, Multi, Operas, Sexual Content, endgame silverflint of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: James McGraw is engaged to Eleanor Guthrie. They're not in love, but he keeps his promises.Then he meets her brother, an angry baker by the name of John Silver.(the Moonstruck AU I just had to write)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I saw the movie Moonstruck for the millionth time and decided to write this, loosely based on the movie.
> 
> If you haven't seen the movie, this will be a delightfully weird cheesy rom-com story (and then you should watch Moonstruck, because of 80s Nicholas Cage and Cher living it up in Brooklyn). 
> 
> If you have seen it, you can delight in all the little references I stuck in there. :) 
> 
> Happy New Year's!

•••

 

“We should get married,” Eleanor says calmly, breaking off a piece of cheesecake with her fork. 

 

James doesn’t fall out of his seat, but his head definitely snaps up from where he was studying the wine menu perched on the table. “Pardon me?” 

 

She levels a steady look at him, like he’s being slow. As though she hasn’t just proposed to him right in the middle of an old-fashioned Italian restaurant. “We’ve been dating for nearly two years now. I’ve met your father, you’ve met my parents, they like the both of us. You wouldn’t have to worry about coming out of retirement with my trust fund, and my father would stop asking me when I’m getting married.” 

 

Eleanor takes another bite of cheesecake when she finishes explaining, chewing and swallowing methodically.

 

He hadn’t quite expected this conversation when Eleanor suggested they go out to dinner tonight.

 

She then pours them both more wine while he tries to come up with a suitable response to this new development. 

 

“We’re not in love.” A small part of him winces at the blunt words that come out of his mouth, but he needs to clarify the implications behind this conversation. Eleanor, after all, had always appreciated his candor. “So why me?” 

 

“We’re not,” Eleanor confirms. “But we like each other’s company, and isn’t that enough? It’s a perfectly suitable arrangement for the two of us.” Eleanor catches the waiter’s eye, then, gesturing for the check. “I understand if you don’t want to, of course.” 

 

James thinks for a moment. He’s not in love with her, and he probably never will be, but he’s content with their relationship.She’s intelligent, beautiful, and best of all, independent, able to deal with great lengths of his own reserved behavior.“You’re young, Eleanor. I don’t want you to regret doing this-” 

 

“You’re not that much older than me,” Eleanor interrupts him. “I talked to my father today, and I just-” she falters for a second, and for a split second, James can see through the cracks in her business-like persona, a glimpse of almost another woman, one who’s driven by passion instead of logic, before her expression shutters again.“I know it’s sudden, but he’s threatening to pull the fund if I don’t add to the lineage to create a new generation for the Guthrie empire. Misogynistic asshole.” She adds the last part with relish. 

 

Lineage- _Children_. Something in James’s face must change, for she quickly adds, “It doesn’t mean we have to have children on our own, of course. Marriage would be acceptable for now. We could adopt older children down the line if he really insists.”

 

A long time ago, James had once thought of having children, back when Miranda and Thomas were alive, and they were in love. Thomas had always joked that he would have loved nothing more to have three or four red-haired toddlers running around, and Miranda had always stepped in with a teasing grin and suggested that maybe they start with one or two first, as James laughed and secretly pictured a child with Miranda’s brown eyes and Thomas’s blond curls-

 

He tamps down the memory as it surges up, taking a sip of wine to chase the taste of bitter grief that wells up. “I don’t have any rings that would fit you,” James says instead, “But how about we go to the jeweler after this?” 

 

Eleanor smiles, and at least it’s genuine. “I don’t need a ring. Does this mean that you accept?” She puts her hands out across the table. 

 

He gives a small small, nodding and taking her hands. They’re cooler than his, and he can almost envelop her entire pale hand in his palm. “I do,” James says, and even though there’s no thrill in the words, he’s not unhappy. “When do you want to get married?” 

 

She pulls back her hands, finishes her wine. “We could do it next week at city hall, and maybe go out to lunch after, if you’re available then.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

James had been in the Navy when he met Thomas and Miranda. It had been at one of the military balls he was obliged to attend, where he usually stayed in the corner of the ballroom in his dress uniform, until he could sneak out at an appropriate time. Thomas had been working with some of James’s superiors for his father’s company stateside, and Miranda never passed on the opportunity for a ball, nor not traveling with her husband. 

 

That night, however, at the American ambassador’s mansion, he had been entranced by a dark-eyed woman clad in a peach-colored dress, who had spun him around the dance floor until he had cracked a smile. 

 

_“Lieutenant McGraw, you are too gorgeous to be on the sideline of this hall tonight,” she whispers in his ear, and James had been too startled to resist when she took him by the hand. He didn’t know then, but as he danced with Miranda, another man watched the two of them, already knowing that the lieutenant was someone special._

 

With her quick wit and generous smile, Miranda had entranced him from the start. Then she had introduced him to her husband, Thomas, who shook James’s hand with a soft smile, and in the span of a conversation, he had changed James’s life as he fell. 

 

By the time Thomas had lightly rubbed the inside of James’s wrist with his thumb, as Miranda kept a soft arm around his waist, James was a little in love with them. 

 

Their affair had been all-consuming, a rare, beautiful thing. In a matter of weeks, James moved to the Hamilton’s estate in the Pennsylvania countryside. There, they spent their days in love all together, protected from the outside world in their isolation. 

 

Then Thomas and Miranda Hamilton had died in a car accident a few weeks before James’s thirty-fifth birthday. Then, he was alone. 

 

He resigned from his Navy position after the funeral, unable to focus on giving orders when his heart bled so openly, when he could barely breathe without thinking of the two of them. Thomas and Miranda had left their entire estate to him, but Alfred Hamilton had hired a suite of lawyers who took the house, the land, the money away, since James had not been married to either of them. James would’ve resisted it, but he was broken after their death, and not all the money in the world mattered. So he moved to New York, buried himself in alcohol and dreams of a world in which he was still whole. 

 

He had met Eleanor several years later in the city. James had taken a part-time job as an accountant at one of her father’s companies in order to make ends meet, though he was technically retired. 

 

She met him during a meeting in downtown Manhattan, and after work, they had bonded over their mutual pains in a smoky bar. Eleanor had just broken up with her long-time girlfriend whom she was painfully in love with, and James had soon drunkenly revealed his history with the Hamiltons to her over many rounds of whiskey. 

 

It had been a matter of convenience, at first. The first time they slept together, it had been decent, but not earth-shaking. They still didn’t have sex frequently, given Eleanor’s busy schedule, but James didn’t mind. She spent nights at her own apartment, and he appreciated the space. He had to leave working for the Guthrie empire under their strict fraternization rules, and now spent his time volunteering at the local soup kitchen in order to keep his mind distracted. He stopped drinking so heavily, and she was able to relieve some of her stress to him. 

 

Now they were engaged. There’s a small part of him- Thomas would have said it was his romantic side- that questions it all. He’s not in love with her, but he doubts he could ever love again in the way he was with the Hamiltons. Besides, a life with Eleanor Guthrie would be comfortable, not just because of her financial security, but because she understands that he can’t love her, why he’s like this. 

 

Later that night, as James lays alone in bed, he stares at the white stucco ceiling that’s illuminated by the street lamps outside. He closes his eyes briefly, tries to will himself to sleep like he could back in his Navy days, but then he realizes what he forgot. 

 

He picks up his cellphone from the side table, types the contact name for his sister and hits call. 

 

Anne’s voice is gruff when she picks up. “For fuck’s sake, I was asleep.” 

 

He frowns. “Asleep? It’s not even-” he glances at the clock on the side table. “Shit. I must’ve lost track of time.”

 

There’s a pause, and James can nearly feel her glare through the phone. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“I’m fine,” he replies, and she scoffs. 

 

“Bullshit. Last time you called me this late, it was the that anniversary and you’d gotten yourself arrested in some bar fight.” 

 

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m getting married.”

 

There’s silence, then rustling like she’s getting up. “The fuck?” 

 

“To Eleanor.”  


 

“No shit, to Eleanor. I mean, why are you getting married to her?” 

 

“She needs someone to appease her father.”

 

“And you need money, that it?” Anne says harshly.“I already told you me and Jack can help you out.” 

 

“It’s not about the money,” James bites out. He knows this is Anne’s way of showing concern, but they are siblings bound by their mutual hot temperaments. 

 

“You in love with her, then?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Good. The ones you love, they drive you crazy because they know they can.” He can hear more rustling, and then another low voice in the background. “Jack wants to know when the wedding is.” 

 

“Next week. Just at the courthouse, we don’t know exactly when yet.” 

 

“Figure it out. You’re my brother, we should be at your wedding.” 

 

James smiles slightly. “How are you and Jack?” 

 

“Fucking peachy,” Anne says. “I’ll drop by the day after tomorrow, that works?”

 

“That works,” James tells her. “Bring something for dinner.”

 

“I’m not a goddamn grocery store,” she says snappily, and hangs up. James huffs out a laugh and sets down his phone so that he can try to sleep. 

 

 

•••

 

 

His phone rings the next morning as he’s pouring coffee into one of his chipped mugs. James picks it up after glancing at the screen. “Eleanor?” 

 

“James, _shit-”_ There’s a muffled sound, then her voice comes back, clearer. “James. My father’s had a heart attack.”  


 

James pauses, the cup halfway to his mouth. He knows there’s no love lost between Eleanor and Richard Guthrie, but she does sound distraught. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It was at the house in England, he’s in the Royal Brompton for surgery now. I’m heading to the airport now.” Eleanor sighs. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” 

 

“That’s fine,” James says. “Go be with your father. City hall can wait.”

 

“There’s something else,” Eleanor says. “I need you to talk to my brother.” 

 

He sets down his coffee in surprise. “You have a brother?” 

 

“We’ve been estranged for many years now, it’s a long story. I need you to tell him that Father’s in the hospital, and about the wedding.”

 

“I don’t think I should-” 

 

“Please, James,” and Eleanor’s voice breaks a bit, which surprises James more than than the fact that she apparently has a brother. “I don’t have his number. He’s a baker in Brooklyn, I know where his bakery is. He’s a good man.” 

 

A garbled mechanical voice comes from the background on her end, and she swears under her breath. “My plane’s boarding. Please tell me you’ll do it.” 

 

James sighs. “I will. Give me his address.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

James squints up at the worn bakery sign. This was the address that Eleanor had given him, but he had expected a Guthrie to own a bakery that looked modern and glamorous, not humble and, quite frankly, so run-down. 

 

It’s been a rough morning. On the way out, his landlord handed him another late notice on his rent payment, and then it had been drizzling once he had gotten outside. Furthermore, it took a long time to get a taxi, so he spent the entire ride soaking wet. 

 

At least it was no longer raining in Brooklyn. James tries to mop up most of the water off his face with his coat, steels himself, and opens the door. The inside is no more glamorous, but it’s clean, and there’s a delicious warmth that’s certainly inviting. 

 

There’s a young woman at the cashier at the front, next to rows of cakes and pastries. She has a pleasant, measured smile, and her hazel eyes are surrounded by artfully applied black eyeliner. “Welcome to the Walrus Bakery, how can I help you?” she asks with a measured smile, her accent vaguely French. 

 

“I’m looking for John Guthrie,” James says. 

 

The woman tilts her head. “John Guthrie? I have not heard that name in here for a long time.” 

 

James frowns. “He no longer owns this bakery?” Shit.

 

“No, he does, but John doesn’t go by that name anymore,” she says. “Who are you?”  


 

“My name is James McGraw. I’m engaged to his sister.” 

 

Now the woman looks surprised, though she quickly arranges her features into a more neutral expression admirably quickly. “Now that, I did not expect. Come, I will bring you to him.” 

 

She gestures, opening the counter so that he can slip behind it as well, and brings him to the door heading towards the back of the bakery. “He’s in a terrible mood this morning, his leg kept him up last night. But if you are to be in his family, I expect you will have to learn to deal with this.” 

 

She opens the door with a push, and James follows her into the dark kitchen. 

 

“John, you have a visitor,” the woman announces as the door swings shut behind the two of them. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, Max, I’m busy!” A voice hollers in response behind several large racks of cooling bread, the accent somewhere between British and Australian. “Go back to running the front!”  


“It’s your sister’s fiancé,” Max says primly, then pushes James forward with a surprising amount of strength for such a small woman. 

 

“My what?” The voice shouts again, and then John emerges from behind one of the racks. 

 

He’s slightly shorter than James, with dark curly hair that’s pulled up in a haphazard bun. His thick beard should soften his sharp jaw, but instead makes him look more angular in this light, while a single stud in his earlobe glints from the oven’s fire. Flour dusts the top of his head, and his arms glisten with sweat from the heat of the oven. He’s missing the lower part of one leg, a metal prosthetic leg dotted with flour that scuffs the ground a bit. 

 

James looks from his face, bright blue eyes that squint as he scowls, to the sheer bulk of his arms revealed by the stretch of the thin white undershirt he’s wearing. A tattoo peeks out of the thin white material on his upper chest. _Oh no._

 

“John Guthrie?” James asks, stepping forward to avoid contemplating the fact that he thinks his fiancée’s brother is attractive. 

 

The man’s eyes narrow more. “I don’t go by that name anymore, asshole. It’s John Silver. Who the fuck are you?” He’s holding one of those baker’s paddles in one hand, and James feels a rush of annoyance. 

 

“My name is James McGraw, and I’m engaged to your sister Eleanor,” James says in return, trying to remain calm even as this infuriatingly handsome man seems keen on antagonizing him by tapping his prosthetic on the ground. “She sent me here. She’s gone to see your father-”

 

John slams the paddle down on the countertop, shaking the trays stacked there slightly. Max flinches, but James doesn’t move. 

 

“Fuck that old man!” John says viciously, then, “What’s it about, then?” 

 

“He’s had a heart attack in London,” James says as John runs a flour-covered hand through his hair as though he could tear it out. “Eleanor also wanted me to invite you to the wedding. It’ll be in city hall next week.”

 

“You know what my father- and my sister- did to me?” John says in a low voice, vicious, like James didn’t say anything. As he takes a step towards James, he doesn’t budge.

 

Max speaks up, evidently having heard this particular story. “John, let him go, he’s just here-” 

 

“No, let him speak,” James says, anger beginning to pulse under his skin at the scoff that John gives in response. “I’m sure this will be quite a tale.” 

 

“You’re fucking right it’s going to be a tale. Five years ago, I’m engaged to a gorgeous woman,” John enunciates, now close enough to James so that he can see just how electric blue John’s eyes are. “My life is great, all right? Then my sister comes here, to this bakery, orders some bread. We get into a fight, so I storm out, yeah?”

 

He pauses, as if to add dramatic emphasis, and James would hate him if he wasn’t so mesmerizing. “I get hit _by a fucking car_ , and I lose my _fucking leg._ Then my father? Yeah, he sees me in the hospital. Says he told Madi- my fiancée- to leave me, that I can’t be distracted by both a wife and half a leg. He said he didn’t even have to offer her money, because _she already wanted to leave me._ The leg just- it just drove her away. Worst day of my life.” 

 

John stills the tapping of his leg for a moment. “And my darling sister, Eleanor? Doesn’t say a single thing to me, doesn’t even visit me in the hospital.” He slams a hand down on the counter now. “So you can see why I’m just a bit fucking pissed that she expects me to- what, come running to Daddy’s bedside? Then be her best man? They took my life from me!” 

 

“Sorry, I told you he’s been in a mood for the morning-” Max begins from behind them. 

 

“No, it’s all right,” James tells her, not breaking eye contact with John. “You should leave us, Max.”

 

There’s silence, but then Max walks back through the door to the front without another word. 

 

John stares after her for a second, looking genuinely surprised and a bit betrayed, then turns back to James explosively. “Who do you think you are, ordering people around-”

 

“Listen,” James barks, an icy tone he hasn’t used since his days in the Navy, and John’s jaw snaps shut but clenches, “Eleanor wants you at the wedding. I couldn’t give a fuck less about your story, but that’s what she wants, so that’s the only reason I’m here.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” John shoots back. “What do you mean, you don’t give a fuck about my story?”

 

“It wasn’t even Eleanor’s fault!” James shouts then. “She made a mistake, but she didn’t do anything to you!”

  
  
“I don’t care!” John yells right back. “I lost my leg, and Eleanor _wants me to pretend like nothing happened_? Fuck that, fuck her, and fuck you!”

 

The next thing he knows, he’s slamming John into the brick wall besides the oven. The brick is warm, but not as hot as the press of John’s body against his. “Listen here,” James says, quiet even though he’s two inches from John’s face. “We’ve all lost something. What makes you so special?” 

 

“Easy for you to say, you’ve got both legs,” John spits, even though James’s arm is pressing into his throat. “Does my sister know she’s marrying such a violent man?” 

 

James loosens the press on his throat slightly, but still doesn’t let him go. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he says, “But Eleanor deserves you giving her another chance.” 

 

John studies him, then, and something flickers in his eyes. He tilts his head back up as a challenge, and James’s eyes can’t help but flicker down to the long column of tanned skin under his arm. “You must really love my sister if you’re slamming people into walls for her.” 

 

“It’s nothing to do with love,” James says. “I respect her, and you’re not being respectful right now.” 

 

John gives a smirk then, and something low coils in James’s gut when he realizes that John’s eyes have flickered down to his mouth and back, realizes how he’s pressed up against the other man. “Is that right? Maybe I’m not respectful.” He makes the words sound filthy, and something inside James burns. 

 

Instead, however, he takes a careful step back, putting space between them. John lightly rubs his throat, somehow making the gesture look nonchalant, but his eyes are still focused on him. “You’re a real serious man, then, is it? All flinty-eyed, telling me who I am like you know anything.” He pauses. “Flint. That’s what I’m going to call you.” 

 

James frowns, the tense moment broken. “You certainly will not.” 

 

“Flint it is, then,” John drawls, then looks him up and down. It takes everything in James’s ability not to move a muscle. “You certainly look very tough. Hard, even.” 

 

James levels a flat look at him. “Goodbye, John Silver.” He turns and leaves the hot air of the bakery, past Max, before he can do something he’ll regret.

 

 

  
•••

 

 

 

He’s in the taxi on the way back to his apartment when the flush on the back of his neck finally recedes. His phone in his pocket buzzes with a message from Anne. 

 

<< _where are you? outside your door right now. >>_

 

James swears, hastily paying the taxi driver when they pull up to the curb, and goes inside. 

 

Anne is standing there with a grocery bag. “There you are, I’ve been here for ages,” she says with a twist to her mouth, but goes forward to hug James stiffly. They’ve never been good at affection. 

 

“It’s been a while,” James says, opening the door to his apartment, Anne following him in. “Where’s Jack?” 

 

“Had to do something for Vane at the office.” Vane was Jack Rackham’s business partner, and Anne often complained about him over the phone to James. “I brought takeout.” She looks over him with a critical eye for a moment. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

James barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes as he retrieves two beers for them. “Eleanor’s brother.” 

 

He tells her about Eleanor’s phone call, then the events of the afternoon, as they both dig into the food while sitting on his couch. Once he’s finished talking, Anne has a strange look in her eye. “What?” 

 

“Eleanor’s brother, are you fucking him?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

 

He coughs on a piece of chicken. “What? I just met him today, so no,” James says. “I hate him.” 

 

Anne takes a swig of her own beer. “Doesn’t sound like that.”

 

“What do you mean?” James demands. “What part of that could you possibly have interpreted as me sleeping with him?” 

 

“I dunno, but you sound like I sounded when I met Jack. Sure, you hate him, but you also wouldn’t mind jumping him, you know?” she says. “He’s infuriating, but you’re sort of into that, I mean.” 

 

James just glares.  


 

“All right, don’t give me that look,” Anne mutters. “Is he good looking?” 

 

James considers lying, but decides he’s had enough today to lie. “He is.” 

 

“There it is,” Anne says. “You should sleep with him.”  


 

“I’m getting married to his sister,” James hisses, turning red despite himself. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

 

She shrugs. “Think about it. You’re not married yet, that’s all.” 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Eleanor calls him later that day. “He’s out of surgery,” she says, when James picks up the phone. “But it’s not looking good. I’ll definitely be here for the rest of the week. Did you talk to John?”  


 

“I did,” James says. 

 

“What did he say?” 

 

He decides to be deliberately ambiguous in his response. “He’s working through some things. He’ll decide sooner or later, I suppose.” 

 

“You need to go back,” Eleanor says, and not for the first time today, James nearly splutters. 

 

“What?” 

 

“You need to convince him to come to the wedding. I think-” and her voice drops in volume for a bit, “He would want to come, but doesn’t know how to express that.”

 

James thinks about the anger in John’s eyes from this afternoon. “I think you should talk to him.”

 

But Eleanor is adamant. “James, please go back to the bakery. He knows you now, and you can make anyone do anything. Please, for me?” 

 

James pulls the phone away from his ear a bit so he can let his head fall forward onto the wall with a thunk. “I’ll try,” he says. Shit. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

James goes back to The Walrus in the morning, just after they’ve opened. Max is there at the front again, and she looks delighted to see James there.

 

“Mr. Flint,” she greets. “I was wondering if we would see you again.”

 

“It’s McGraw,” James says with a frown.

 

She makes a small ‘hmm’ noise. “John was calling you Flint all of yesterday afternoon. My apologizes.” Before James can process that, Max points towards the door. “He’s in there, though I don’t know if his mood’s improved since last we spoke.” 

 

James nods to her, moving behind the counter. He can already hear banging from behind the door, and shoves it open to get inside. 

 

John is right there this time, and his head whips up at the sound of the door opening. “What- Flint?”

 

“It’s McGraw,” James says. “We need to talk.” 

 

John sets down the tray he’d been holding. “Are you going to push me into a rack if I don’t want to talk?” 

 

“Depends on how much attitude you have,” James says, because he’s trying to be more honest in everyday life. 

 

John smirks at that, picking up the tray and bringing it to counter near the oven. “Fair enough. You’ll have to talk while I work. I’m down on French loaves.” He picks up a bin full of dough and sprinkles flour on the surface, evidently preparing to make the bread. 

 

“Eleanor wants to see you at the wedding,” James starts, ready when John slams the dough back on the counter, forming shapes quickly. “Don’t you think it’s time to forgive her?”

 

“Forgive- excuse me, were you know here yesterday?” John rolls the dough as he speaks. “Why should I forgive her?”

 

“Because she’s your sister,” James begins, already feeling a headache form, so he puts up a hand when John begins to protest. “You’re going to regret it every day of your life if you don’t forgive her, and she gets married without you there. You don’t have to like her, but you have to love her, because she’s your family.”

 

John’s hands cease kneading the dough, as though he’s actually thinking about it. “It’s easier to hate.” 

 

“It is,” James affirms. He thinks of something that Thomas said to him once, after he had had a nasty argument with Anne. “But it’s far more important to love.”  


The dark haired man looks at him at that, at that, his hands completing the shape of the loaf like muscle memory. “Do you love my sister, Flint?” 

 

He pauses. “We’re getting married.” 

 

“You see, that doesn’t answer my question,” John says, setting down the loaf and turning to face him fully. “Have you ever been in love?” 

 

“I have.” 

 

John nods once, his blue eyes intent on James’s face as the corner of his mouth coils up. “Who are you, then? Tell me more about the man my sister’s going to marry, then.”

 

He wills himself not to snap at the other man. “It’s not about me. I’m not here to become your friend.” 

 

Instead of dropping it, as any normal person would have, John’s smirk grows on his face. “No, I think I want to know more about you, Mr. Flint. What do you do?” 

 

James stares at him for a moment. “I work at the soup kitchen on the upper west side,” he says, flatly, not understanding the shift in conversation. 

 

“Really,” John says. “Not, I don’t know, law enforcement? Bodyguard? You have a surprising amount of anger for someone who serves others.” He sets a pile of dough on the corner of the counter, presumably for it to rise.  


“I was in the Navy,” he bites out when it’s clear that John was waiting for an answer. “Now if you excuse me-” 

 

“I was an RAF pilot,” John replies, wiping his hands off on his stained apron. “Never liked boats. Always thought the Navy was especially strange. What’s the saying, ‘it’s not gay if it’s underway’?”

 

James nearly reacts to the taunt, but levels a look at John instead. “I would say nothing is limited to underway.” 

 

There’s a beat of silence, then John honest-to-God snorts. “Ha. You and me, we’re going for a drink. Right now.” He begins to untie his apron. 

 

“Don’t you have a bakery to run?” James asks, looking around. 

 

“Nah, Wednesdays are slow days anyways, Max’ll deal. We’ll just be upstairs, anyways,” the baker says, slinging the apron onto the counter and beckoning him to another door across the room. “Come on, if you want to convince me to go to this wedding, we ought to drink.” 

 

James considers it, thinks of all the ways this could go badly, but remembers his promise to Eleanor. “What do you mean, upstairs?” 

 

John smirks. “I live here,” he says, with a shrug. “I have booze. Follow me.” 

 

With that, John walks to the door, opening it up and started to ascend the stairs. James, against his better judgement, follows him up the stairs. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

John’s apartment is small but cozy and warm. James was expecting total chaos and clutter, but it is clean and even sparse. There’s a small kitchen with a counter dividing it from the living room. In the room, there’s small table with two chairs pushed underneath, and a pile of mail on the surface.

 

John pushes the stacks of paper aside before getting two glasses and a bottle of bourbon from one of the cabinets. As he sets the items down on the table, pulling out a chair and sitting in it, James looks around a bit. There are vintage-looking opera posters taped on the wall above the table, along with a photo of John and Max. Through a door just ajar enough to see into the next room, there’s a rumpled-looking bed, and a small black cat that’s curled up on the bedspread.

 

“Julius,” John says, pouring bourbon into the two glasses. He throws back his glass.

 

James turns back to him. “Pardon?” He too drinks his bourbon. John pours them more. 

 

“The cat. His name is Julius. He was Max’s until she found out she was allergic, and so now he’s living with me.” 

 

James glances back at the photo on the wall. “And that doesn’t bother her?” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

James spins his glass slightly on the table before taking a seat across from John. “You and her are together, are you not?” 

 

John coughs a little on the bourbon, setting his down. “No. I love Max, but we’re not like that.” He regards James with another one of his strange looks, like he’s searching for something. “She and Eleanor once dated, actually.”

 

“Really,” James says. Both of John’s eyebrows rise at his answer, like he was expecting to get a rise out of him, so he finishes off his glass before asking, “When was this?”

 

“A few years ago, it ended pretty badly. Max was the one to break it off,” the man replies, finishing his glass as well, and pouring them both more. 

 

James remembers how distraught Eleanor was when they first met, realizes that it must have been Max who broke her heart. It’s a small world, he thinks to himself. He takes another drink. 

 

“You seem rather nonchalant about this,” John says, after a moment of quiet. 

  
James shrugs, the alcohol making his movement fluid. “I’m not a jealous man, if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“And the fact that she likes both men and women?”

 

Maybe it’s that he’s slowly getting on his way to drunk, but James gives a small smile. “If I had a problem with it, that would make me a hypocrite, Mr. Silver.” 

 

“Interesting,” John says, his eyes still intent on James’s face. The room feels small, then, the soft yellow light overhead making his eyes look slightly blue-green than downstairs. He leans back in his chair. “So when did you join the Navy?” 

 

James clasps the cup in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. “My father was an officer. I joined out of university.” He sets the cup down. “And you, in the Air Force?” 

 

“Straight out of secondary school,” John replies. “Never liked school. Plus, it made the old man furious.” He leans forward, conspiratorially. “Not as angry as becoming a lowly baker, however.”

 

James snorts despite himself. “Did you even want to be a baker, or have all your actions been so far to spite your father?” 

 

The other man sits back again. “I’ve always been an early riser, plus I can rest my leg whenever I need to, since I work for myself.” He taps the prosthetic. “Can’t say it’s very conducive for a dating life, though.” 

 

James nods, letting himself relax in the chair a little. He glances back at the posters on the wall. “You like the opera, then?” 

 

John’s eyes are still on him when he looks back at the other man. “My mother took me when I was young. She had a friend who worked backstage at the Met, who showed us all the props before the show. Then we would watch from one of the boxes. My mother would whisper translations to us, but I was usually too transfixed by the singing, the colors, the audience- the whole thing, to really pay any attention to her. Some of my fondest memories are from the opera. I remember we saw La Traviata once. It changed my life.” 

 

John takes another long sip, as if lost in memory for a moment, his eyes going slightly vacant. “Then she died, and my father didn’t understand the opera, so we stopped going. Seemed wrong to go by myself, so I haven’t been in- well, nearly twenty years.” He gives a sharp laugh. “I doubt they’re extremely accessible to me, either.” 

 

James toys with his glass a little. “I could- we could go. If you’d want,” he says. At first, he thinks John didn’t hear him, but then the man’s eyes snap to focus on him.

 

“What- you like the opera?” he asks, looking bemused. 

 

“I’ve never been,” James answers. “But if you want someone to go with you, I could.” Hefurrows his brow under the wide-eyed look John is giving him. “What? You’d be paying, of course.”

 

John puts his hands on the table, and James thinks he’s about to go off on another rant, but his eyes are still fixed on James. He pushes himself up, going around the table, and before James can move, he wraps a hand around James’s head and pulls him into a kiss.

 

His mouth is warm and wet, and James is still for a split second before he’s kissing him back. His hands come up to grasp at John’s shirt, keeping him close, as John’s mouth opens underneath his. 

 

With a surprising show of strength, John hauls him up, pressing him against the table so their bodies are lined up, and shudders when James’s tongue runs against his lower lip. John pushes a thigh between his, forcing James to put a steadying a hand on the table, knocking off a glass in the process. But neither of them break apart, as John’s other hand comes to the side of James’s jaw, He takes control of the kiss, making James shudder at the slick slide of their mouths together, rubbing against his thigh, as his hands find their way into his hair. 

 

Then James realizes exactly what he’s doing, and breaks the kiss. “Stop-,” he pants, pushing at John, who steps back immediately from where he was pushing James on the table. “I can’t...”

 

“Sorry- I shouldn’t have done that,” John says, and his voice sounds genuine, but his eyes are still fixated on James’s mouth. James licks his lips unconsciously. “You- _God,”_ John breathes, his hair wild from where James was threading his hands through the curls. 

 

James makes a split decision, and closes the distance between them again. The blood is roaring in his ears, but John is moaning into his mouth, hands clenching onto his upper arms. James presses kisses down his jaw, down his throat, and works his hands underneath that ridiculously flimsy tank top. 

 

“Bed,” John gasps, clutching at James. “I want you in my bed, come on- _”_

 

He turns, pulling James by the hand into the bedroom, and James follows willingly. He has James on the bed in a matter of seconds, pulling up his shirt and sighing into his mouth as he runs a hand up his torso.  


James catches his hand on his chest, leaning back from his mouth. “This can only be once,” he says, quiet, and John nods, before leaning down and capturing his mouth in another heady kiss in response. 

 

“I want you to come in me,” he says, and James groans as his hips grind down on his lap. 

 

“Fuck,” James says with a moan, rolling them over so that he can kiss John again, thrusting even through multiple layers of clothing.

 

“Wait,” James says then, breaking free of the kiss. John looks terribly disappointed. “Where’s the cat?” 

 

John stares up at him for a moment, then a broad smile splits his face. “Just left the room. Ha- did you think we crushed him by accident? Don’t want to scandalize him?” 

 

James kisses him to shut him up. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Afterwards, they’re lying side by side on top of the sheets, the comforter pushed off to the ground from their previous activities. James is sweaty and boneless, especially with John’s weight half-draped over his body, but he can’t find it in him to push him off. 

 

“That,” he begins, but in his blissed out state, can’t seem to find the words to express just how good he feels in the moment. 

 

“Yeah,” John says, tilting his head up to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Good to see you’ve stayed in shape since your Navy days,” he adds teasingly, flexing his hand over James’s abdominal muscles before his head drops to James’s shoulder.

 

James is tired and warm but he knows he needs to talk, needs to say something. “We- I’m engaged. To your sister,” he tries to get out, guilt pricking at his mind. “We shouldn’t have done this.”  


 

John’s hand stills from where it was rubbing small circles on his side. “We shouldn’t have. But I don’t regret it,” he adds. “From the moment I saw you, I wanted you. This doesn’t have to change anything.” 

 

James lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping closed, and he’s asleep before he can answer. 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The next morning, James wakes to a start. He stares at the yellow ceiling, confused to where he is, then remembers exactly what happened. 

 

“Shit,” he says to himself, and almost jumps when there’s a low chuckle from beside him. 

 

“Yeah,” John says from where he’s curled on on a pillow, lazily watching James, “I figured you would react like that.” 

 

“Shit,” James repeats, then jolts up in bed. “I have to go.” 

 

“Why?” John says, as though he _didn’t just sleep with the fiancé of his sister_. “It happened already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?” He stretches, the sheet slipping low on his hips, revealing a dark purple mark on where his groin and hip meet.

 

James looks, because he is just a man, but then screws his eyes tight. “This was a mistake. We drank too much, I made a mistake. Fuck, I need to go-” He rises unsteadily, muscles still shaky from last night, and pulls the sheets off of John in order to wrap them around himself.

 

Behind him, John makes a small sound of discontent. “Why are you hiding yourself, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all-” 

 

“We can never speak of this,” James hisses, his face no doubt turning flushed. “Christ, you’re going to be my brother-in-law. Eleanor can never know-” He’s pulling through the pile of clothes at the foot of bed, finding only one of his shoes. 

 

“What, so you’re just going to have a life of mediocre sex with her?” When James splutters instead of actually responding, he raises an eyebrow. “Right, the way you were moaning last night, I know you haven’t been properly fucked for quite some time. You don’t have to deny it.” 

 

“Fuck you,” James growls, wrestling on his pants and shirt, still searching for his other shoe. As he puts on the jeans he had been wearing, he winces as the material chafes the beard burn that’s running down the inside of his legs. John raises his hands.

 

“All right, that was harsh. But come on, we can put this behind us.” 

 

James just glares at him as he buttons his shirt. 

 

“Come on, I’m not going to tell her. Sure, the situation is not ideal, but-” 

 

“Not ideal?” James bites out, finally finding his other shoe under the bed and jamming it on his foot. “That’s a fucking understatement-”

 

“Come on, we should talk about this,” John tries to reason, grasping at Flint’s arm, but he pulls away. 

 

“Goodbye, John,” James says, ignoring the way the man’s face goes flat, and leaves the apartment without looking back.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

He throws himself into working at the soup kitchen to avoid thinking about what he’s done. Billy, one of the other volunteers, eyes him with some concern, especially since he’s hacking away at various food items with one of the big knives. 

 

His phone rings, the screen flashing with Eleanor’s name. It’s been three days after the night he spent with John. He answers it. 

 

“Sorry I haven’t been able to ring, Father had to go in for another surgery,” she says, apologetically.

 

“That’s fine, I hope he’s doing better,” James says, half-listening to her scoff about the old man’s stubborn attitude. He continues to cut the sandwiches for the daily lunch. 

 

“Have you talked to John?” Eleanor asks.  


 

“I did- talk to him,” James says. Billy appears at his elbow, carefully taking the tray of sandwiches. 

 

“He got under your skin, didn’t he? He was always so argumentative,” Eleanor says, her tone wistful. “Did you convince him to go to the wedding?” 

 

“I don’t know, he said he’d think about it.” 

 

“Well, I hope he does,” Eleanor says. “I just found these old photos of the two of us. I’ll have to send you some pictures, they’re absolutely adorable.” 

 

James stares at a tomato. “He told me that your mother used to take you both to the opera.” 

 

There’s a moment of stunned silence. “That’s right. I can’t believe he remembered, or that he told you.” 

 

“He mentioned in in passing,” James says. Billy reappears at his elbow, interrupting his conversation. 

 

“McGraw, someone forgot to order bread for the holiday dinner next week, and now our usual place is out. Something about a rat infestation I heard.” Billy says, urgently. 

 

He cups the phone to his chest. “Go out and find someone who can fill the order, then. There are plenty of places that sell bread.” The taller man nods, leaving him to the phone call. 

 

James turns back to the phone, to Eleanor. “Sorry, what was that?” 

 

“I said, since father is doing better, but it’s still touch-and-go, I should be back by late next week I think. Really, thank you for talking to John though.” 

 

James thinks of those bright blue eyes, and he swallows, the knife in his hand slowing down. “It’s nothing.”

 

 

•••

 

 

James keeps himself busy. He goes to Anne and Rackham’s to ask them to volunteer for the holiday dinner next week, over dinner.

 

While Anne gets them beers, Jack studies him. James frowns. “What?” 

 

“You look... different,” he says. James glowers. “Not in a bad way, Christ, I don’t know. Less angry, more morose?” 

 

“Mind your business,” James snaps, just as Anne’s coming back.

 

Jack sighs heavily, and Anne looks between the two of them. “Something is off about you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “You see Eleanor’s brother again?” 

 

“No,” James says. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Rackham’s eyebrows rise up, but he starts to serve the three of them without another word. Anne just looks at him, a suspicious look in her eyes. She can probably tell he’s hiding something, but James would, quite frankly, rather throw himself out the window than tell her what he did. Even if she had suggested it. 

 

They agree to help out at the soup kitchen’s holiday dinner, though James, horrifyingly, thinks it’s because they might feel bad for him otherwise. 

 

The next week, Anne is in the back stirring various pans, while Jack is serving food, and James makes sure everything runs smoothly with the other volunteers. Billy had managed to get them bread from a new place, but James doesn’t think to ask about it until he hears, “Flint?” 

 

He turns around almost comically slowly, and sees John standing there, holding a crate full of fresh bread loaves.

 

James glares at him. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“I’m delivering the bread- what, is this where you work?” John asks, looking bewildered. 

 

Billy pushes by James. “Mr. Silver,” he says, taking the crate from him. “This is James McGraw, another volunteer-”  


 

“Oh, I know who he is,” John says, and although his words are innocent, the back of James’s neck flushes. 

 

“That’s it,” he grits out, “You, you’re coming with me.” He takes one of John’s arms and pulls him into the pantry. One of the other volunteers, a woman by the name of Idelle, raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow from where she’s sorting cans, and leaves them alone in the room without a word. 

 

John raises his hands before James can even begin to speak. “I didn’t know this was where you worked, honestly. Your man came by last week, you needed bread, and hey- I have bread.” He gives a nervous laugh, probably because James still probably looks furious, and he’s between John and the door. “Please don’t bludgeon me with a can of green beans.”

 

James looks at him for a long moment. “I’ll pay you, then, so that you can get out of here,” he says, beginning to turn. 

 

“No-” John starts, and falters when James turns a fierce glare on him. “I’ve donated this bread. I don’t want a single cent. Actually,” and he looks to the left of James’s head before looking at him again, “If you don’t mind, I could help...?” 

 

James continues to stare at him. John gives a huff. “Listen, you don’t have to worry about me telling my sister. You’re getting married to her, so you must make her happy. I want- I want to go to the wedding. If you make her happy, and she makes you happy, then I don’t want to get in the way of that.” He scuffs his foot on the floor. “Let me help you, today. I’m used to being in a kitchen, you could use my help.” 

 

“Thank you,” James says, after a moment, caught off guard by John’s words. “Anne’s in the kitchen. You could help her there. She’s got red hair.” 

 

John gives a small smile. “Sister?” 

 

“Yeah,” James says, “She makes me look patient, too,” and he smirks when he sees how John pales, before leaving him.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The rest of the holiday dinner goes well. After they close up, James heads back to the kitchen, thinking that everyone has left by this late hour. 

 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is John seated on the counter, Anne slouched on the opposite side, and Rackham finishing wiping down the counters. Rackham is laughing, Anne’s face suspiciously flat in the way she fixes it when anyone else would be laughing, and John is smiling in a very self-satisfied manner. 

 

“Flint,” John says, “You didn’t tell me your family was such a delight.” 

 

“Your future brother-in-law is quite the charmer,” Jack adds. 

 

Anne just looks between John and James for a moment. “What’s with calling him “Flint”?” 

 

“It’s his nickname,” John breezily answers, but doesn’t clarify. “Anyways, I’d best be off. Thanks for letting me help.” 

 

He moves to go, and after a moment, James follows him, catching his arm just before he gets to the door.

 

“This Friday,” he says, as John blinks at him, “They’re playing La Bohème. We could go.” 

 

John blinks again, but then a slow smile spreads across his face. “As friends, of course,” he says. 

 

“As friends,” James says, then releases his arm. John doesn’t move at first, still looking surprised, but he nods and goes after a moment. 

 

James goes back into the kitchen to Anne, who now has a raised eyebrow. Jack abruptly stops the hushed conversation they were having. “What?” James asks, busying himself with a towel, mopping the counters even though Jack had just done them. 

 

“He seemed nice,” Jack says. 

 

That night, Eleanor only texts him. 

 

<<Coming back Saturday morning. Miss you>>

 

James can’t bring himself to text back anything.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Friday comes quickly. James talks to Eleanor only once, as Richard Guthrie seems to make a recovery, then is re-hospitalized the next day. James takes care of some of her business in New York in her absence, waters the plants in her apartment, and tries not to think about how he’s still harboring non-platonic feelings for his future brother-in-law. 

 

Two days before the opera, he goes out and rents a suit. He had the one that he wore when he got engaged to Eleanor over dinner, but it felt wrong to also wear the suit to the opera. It’s made of a dark green wool with an Italian style cut, but when he puts it on at the small store, the shop attendant looks ready to cry. 

 

He takes the subway to the Lincoln Center and waits by the fountain, where they had agreed to meet. It’s a cold winter night, but he feels flushed, warm inside. 

 

James sees John first. He’s in a long jacket, with a dark blue suit and waistcoat peeking through the material. His hair is combed back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and his beard looks freshly trimmed. He also looks nervous, an expression that seems out of place on his face. 

 

“John,” he says, at a normal volume despite the fact that they’re outdoors near a loud fountain. But John’s eyes snap right to him.

 

“You- you look good,” he says, eyes running over James’s suit. 

 

“You too,” James replies, then, “Shall we?” 

 

He doesn’t extend his arm or anything ridiculous, but they walk into the center with their arms brushing. Each touch is like a small thrill, and he focuses on keeping his eyes pointed forward, not daring to look at the other man, as they take their seats.

 

Then the opera starts. James has never been to the opera himself, and he has very little idea of what it is about. But as the music swells, the singer moving grandly around the stage, he is transported back to one of Thomas and Miranda’s parties, full of light and love. 

 

As the people on stage sing, their costumes glittering from the bright overhead lights, James is captivated. The instruments, the elaborate sets, the narrative- it’s nearly overwhelming, and during one of the especially passionate solos, a tear begins to prick the corner of his eye. They don’t move for the entirety of the intermission, until the music picks up again, and James puts his elbows on his knees in his focus. 

 

He glances at John for the first time during the second half, and John’s eyes are on his face. His mouth opens slightly when he meets James’s eyes, and a faint furrow appears in his brow. He looks as enchanted with James that he feels with the opera- and James’s heart begins to clench in a way that he has not felt in years.

 

The opera ends, but even with the loud swell of music, the thunderous applause of the audience around them, neither of the men move. James watches how John studies his face like he’s looking for an answer to a question neither of them have can answer.

 

They eventually get up, leaving the center in the bitter cold. James hails a taxi, and when he gives the taxi cab his address, John says nothing. They spend the entire ride silent, but when John puts his hand on the seat between them, James moves his hand just slightly until his pinky figure is touching the other man’s. 

 

They get out of the taxi cab, going up into James’s apartment. He feels nervous as he flicks on the light, unsure of this tension between them, so different than even before the time they slept together. This is something much more raw, more precious- and he doesn’t want to interrupt it by talking. They make their way to James’s bedroom naturally, but instead of pushing each other onto it this time, John hangs back, watches his face. 

 

James takes a seat on the end of his bed. “I was in love, once,” he starts, and John lets him talk.

 

He tells him about Thomas and Miranda, about the happiest days of his life, about their tragic end. He tells him about leaving the Navy, breaking down after the funeral, how Eleanor was there to pick him up out of an alcohol haze. 

 

“I thought that I couldn’t love, I couldn’t have any happiness,” James finishes, looking down at clasped hands. He’s afraid to see John’s face in case there’s just pity there, pity for a broken man. 

 

Which is when John speaks. “I’m in love with you,” he says, looking at James with an indescribable range of emotions on his face when James finally looks up. “Christ, I know it’s not been long, but with you- with you, I’m not so angry anymore.” 

 

Objectively, it’s probably one of the least romantic things James have ever heard, but he _understands_. He stands up, still not saying a word, and draws John in for a kiss.

 

Unlike the scorching kisses from their previous encounter, this is more gentle, less hurried. James kisses him like they have all the time in the world, like his fiancée is not coming back tomorrow, like it’s just them in the world, in this apartment. 

 

John angles his head, his beard gently scraping against James’s jaw. His eyes are still closed when they break apart, gently, so that James can feel his hot breath on his mouth. “You are an enigma,” he breathes, “The more I know about you. That I want- I need to figure out. You brought me to the fucking opera.” 

 

James kisses him again. “Anyone could have brought you to the fucking opera,” he says, and John laughs against his mouth. 

 

“I know you said never again- but I can’t just leave like nothing happened between us,” John whispers, holding onto James like he’s afraid to let go. 

 

James rests his forehead against John’s head. “You’re infuriating,” he says. “You get under my skin like no one else can. I-” and he can’t finish, not with his throat closing up. 

 

John presses a short kiss to his mouth. “I know,” he says, and then they’re falling on the bed, shedding their clothes as they go, touching each other until James’s skin feels hot all over.

 

“I know,” John says, kissing the base of his neck, and then they’re lost in the touch of each other’s bodies. John rocks up into the tight cradle of James’s thighs, clutching at his hips, while James’s nails lightly drag over his chest, his nipples, making him shiver.

 

When he comes, James clutches onto him like he’s his anchor, and he’s going to drift away into nothingness if he can’t hold on, and John runs a hand up and down the back of his head until he’s asleep.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The morning light shines directly through James’s window, since he didn’t pull the shades down before going to sleep last night. He blinks once, twice. 

 

John is still asleep beside him. James looks at the sloping lines of his cheek, his forehead, and makes a choice. He picks up his phone. 

 

He’s in the kitchen when John wakes up, making them both coffee. He’s already dressed, suddenly aware of the dark marks that John had sucked into the side of his neck just a few hours ago. 

 

John presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Good morning,” he says, cautious. James tightens his grip on the coffee pot, pouring them both coffee.

 

“There are bananas on the counter, and I’m making toast,” James tells him, still not turning to face him. He pours milk into both their cups. 

 

“My sister’s coming back today, isn’t she?” John asks, but it’s more of a statement. When James looks at him, his expression is blank, the sun casting his hair into more of a rich dark-brown color. 

 

“She is,” James says, handing him the mug of coffee. 

 

“Then I’ll-” John starts, but James cuts him off. 

 

“No, you should stay,” James says. “I’m going to talk to her.” 

 

Worry creases John’s face. “It wasn’t my intention to make you do anything, you do know what, right?” 

 

“I know,” James reassures him. “It’s my own decision.” 

 

John nods once, not taking his eyes off of James.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

They wait in the front room, not saying a word. John puts on his pants and shirt, but James notices that he also has dark red marks at the base of his neck that the shirt doesn’t quite hide. 

 

There’s a knock at the door, and James jumps up. John stiffens, but then James comes back with the same tight posture. Anne follows him, Jack in tow. 

 

“We just thought to stop by for a quick bite, didn’t know anything was happening,” Jack notes in an uneasy tone.

 

“You’re not interrupting anything,” James states, even as John begins to look equally uneasy. 

 

“Jesus, you two look a mess,” Anne says, right to the point. Her eyes catch on the red marks on James’s throat, then the matching ones on John’s. 

 

John clears his throat, shifting. “Coffee?” 

 

Then all four of them are seated at the table, drinking cups of coffee. John considers going for a piece of toast, but then there’s another knock at the door.

 

James gets up to get it, but instead of Eleanor, it’s Max. “Mon cheri,” she says as she comes in, “I knew I would find you here.” Her eyes glance over Jack, but then focus on Anne for a moment, before going back to John. 

 

“Max?” John asks. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“James texted me,” she answers. “You do not have a car to get back, right?” 

 

“Oh,” John says. “Right.” 

 

James looks like he’s going to say something, but then there’s a knock at the door. John instantly knows it’s Eleanor, even as James gets up, slowly, to open the door, leading her in. 

 

She’s somehow taller than John remembered, looking tired but resolute, her blonde hair tied back almost severely. Her face is surprised, then joyful, when she sees John. 

 

“John,” Eleanor says, and when John gets up, she pulls him into a tight hug. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into his neck, and he just hugs her tighter. 

 

“Missed you,” he replies, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

James clears his throat, now. “Eleanor, we need to talk.” 

 

Eleanor, pulling back from John, wipes her eyes quickly. “Yeah, we do,” she says. “But first, I have to say, my father is dead.” 

 

Jack and Max’s eyebrows fly up. James looks stunned, and John- well, John just looks at Eleanor. “When?” he asks, quiet. 

 

“Yesterday,” she answers. “Had another heart attack in his sleep.”

 

John swallows, nods. “All right.” 

 

Eleanor looks at him for a moment, then turns to James. “I can’t marry you,” she says, and James looks like a train hit him for a moment. 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s not you, James,” she says, placating- and John can’t move. “With him gone- well, I don’t need to marry anyone. I love you, but we’re not in love. I can’t in good faith go through with this wedding.” 

 

There’s a shocked silence in the room. Anne breaks it, “What the fuck?”  


 

Eleanor turns to her with a frown. “Anne, right?” 

 

“You can’t just break up with my brother like that,” she growls, standing up. Jack tries to keep her back, but she steps forward, threateningly, to Eleanor. John immediately sees the familial resemblance. 

 

“I assure you, I mean no ill will towards James-” Eleanor starts, but then John interrupts. 

 

“Well, that’s good,” he says, almost to himself, but James and everyone else’s eyes snap to him. John takes in a deep breath. “Eleanor, I have to tell you something-”  


 

“I’m in love with your brother,” James states, not drawing his eyes away from John, even though there are some quiet gasps from the people in the room. Probably Max and Jack. John’s mouth parts open, against his control. “I loved him from the moment I saw him.” 

 

“ _James,_ ” John says. 

 

Eleanor, to her credit, keeps her astonishment to a minimum. “I. Well. I didn’t see this coming. But I’m glad, James, truly. You deserve it,” she says, bringing him into a hug next. She whispers something else into James’s ear, only audible to him. 

 

“I’d best be off,” Eleanor adds. “I’m- I’m glad.” 

 

After she leaves, there’s a moment of silence. John is still processing what the fuck happened, and James is still looking at him with raw, naked hope in his eyes. He should probably say something.

 

“This is convenient,” Jack says. 

 

“Breakfast and a show,” Anne drawls. “James?” 

 

“Yes?” James replies.

 

“You really love him?” 

 

“I do.” 

 

“God help you,” Anne says, even as Jack squeezes her hand. 

 

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet, I’m Max,” the woman says, actually getting up to kiss the back of Anne’s hand. John sees a hint of a blush bloom over the woman’s face, as Jack turns from Anne and Max several times, almost comically, at this new development. That’s something else unexpected, he thinks to himself. 

 

“John,” James says quietly, like a confession, and then John’s attention is drawn to his face once more. 

  
“Marry me,” is what he blurts out. “You- god, I love you. Will you marry me?” 

 

James’s eyes widen, but he crosses the room in a few steps, bringing the other man into a tight embrace. John laughs a bit as James kisses the side of his mouth, burying his face in his neck.  


 

“Of course, you- of course,” James gets out, his eyes- fuck- shining. “God. I love you.”

 

John doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of those words. 

 

“Yeah, but who’s gonna tell Eleanor about the wedding?” Anne asks. 

 

 

•••

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> and then they get married (during their ridiculously sappy vows, Eleanor cries, very dignified, there are actual tears going down Max and Jack's faces, and Anne just rolls her eyes at her brother, his husband, her own girlfriend and boyfriend, and also at her brother's-husband's-sister), adopt a dog or two, probably have a bunch of foster children, and move into a nice Brooklyn brownstone bc John comes into a lot of inheritance money he splits with his no-longer-estranged sister)
> 
> also, 1 month until season 4!?!?! come cry with me @jamesbarlow.tumblr.com


End file.
